


Eight of Spades

by GoldChimera



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Honestly not as ship-centric as I've probably made it seem, is this how you're supposed to use tags, it's not like a romance fic or anything just the relationship is there more as a plot point, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-10-10 19:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldChimera/pseuds/GoldChimera
Summary: A city of slain exiles, a man on the moon, and a pair of black lovers locked in a deadly dance.The (mostly) untold story of what could drive a simple mobster to destroy a universe with a single bullet.





	1. Chapter 1

"You are not supposed to kiss her, Mr. Noir. You're supposed to kill her."

Yeah, yeah, very persuasive. Nothing quite like taking a lecture from a four foot tall asshole in suspenders to get a guy in a cooperative mood. But you're getting ahead of yourself here.

Your name is SPADES SLICK. You were previously the leader of a notoriously vicious gang of mobsters called the MIDNIGHT CREW, until they all died. You are currently lying in the street in a pool of your own blood, having just been beaten severely, thrown onto a nearby rooftop, and then warped over to wherever you are now by the second-in-command of a rival gang known as THE FELT. You think his name's Scratchy, or something? Who cares.

As well as several major injuries, the guy left you with some weird gun. White all over, and loaded with a single shot that looks more like a little ball than a bullet. You don't know what the deal is with this thing, but you understand what he wants you to do with it. Loud and clear. Only thing is, you ain't gonna.

You ain't never gonna kill SNOWMAN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of my first fic, so feedback is much appreciated!
> 
> I know this was a short one, most chapters will be longer. Just gotta set the scene for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This one includes a couple of jokes that only work if you have custom skins enabled. You're not missing much but just thought I should mention it.)

You stand up slowly. Your injuries are pretty bad, and your head's swimming, but you've had worse. At least you only lost a few teeth this time. More to the point, where the hell are you?

You take a look at the sky. Green moon, check. Pink moon, check. Process of elimination means you're back on your own planet, so good news there. Now you're getting a better look around, you know the place. A little street in one of the slums around the outskirts of Midnight City. You'd think about how nice it is to be home for the first time in a while if you cared about things like that.

Weird to see the place so quiet, though. Not a soul in sight. They say the fun doesn't stop 'til 12 around these parts, but you guess that just means it's after 12? Actually, it should be about 2 o'clock, provided you didn't also get warped through time. You never know with those Felt guys.

Wow, you think maybe you lost more blood than you realized. Now you try to walk, you're really getting dizzy. You decide to drop in on one of the many sleazy dives you know are around here somewhere. If you're this woozy already, may as well go for broke.

It's a pretty long walk, but you make it there in the end. You immediately fall down the stairs and land at the doorman's feet. He glares down at you and gives a dismissive growl. Okay, you're definitely worse off than you thought. Just all the more reason to get yourself sat down at the bar. You get back up on your feet, dust yourself off, and barge past the lunk. Just gotta play it smooth. Yeah, you wanted to fall down those stairs. Do it every goddamn day. It's good exercise. The guy would ask who you are before he let you in, except everybody in the whole damn city already knows your name.

You go through the door to find business as usual. Tables stacked high with chips and surrounded by eager crowds. The bar jammed end to end with drunks looking to get even more so. A couple of fellas breaking the rack over on the pool table. The air filled with smoke and off-key piano. Some guy who's clearly had a few dozen too many throws a punch at you, misses by a yard, and falls asleep before he hits the ground.

As you approach the bar, the barman notices you first. Sweat breaks out all over his skinny carapace, but he forces a nervous smile at you. You somehow find a free stool and collapse onto it.

"The usual," you grunt.

"Oh, uh, good to see you, Slick," he says nervously. What's his name, Mickey? Something like that. "Wasn't expecting you tonight."

"The usual."

"Yes, of course, Slick."

Ugh, you forgot how much you hate this guy. Like Deuce and Boxcars mixed up into one special blend moron. But he's good for just about any drink under the sun, and he keeps it on the down low. Not that prohibition is actually a thing in Midnight City, but you'll be damned if you're gonna let anything slip by your expertly crafted 1920's gangster aesthetic.

The barman lifts an unmarked bottle full of cloudy liquid from under the bar, and passes it to you. You take a swig. It's disgusting.

"I'll put it on your tab, alright?" he asks. Your tab is in the thousands by now and you both know that it will never be paid.

This drink isn't tasting the right kind of disgusting tonight. Must still be some blood in your mouth.

Mickey watches you stare into your bottle for a few long seconds before speaking up. "What's the matter, Slick? It ain't like you to nurse your drink."

"Eh, just more Felt bullshit," you reply. "That bitch Snowman took my eye out and ripped my arm off the other night."

"Huh. Sounds rough."

"Oh yeah, and then Cueball or whatever he's called beat me up with a fucking book, if you can believe that."

You take another swig.

"It was gonna be a simple job. It _was_ a simple job. Break into the mansion, kill a dozen or so idiots, and crack open the safe. Frankly, I got no clue what went wrong, but obviously something did, and now everyone's dead. Just makes a guy wanna stab someone, you know?" You start to eye the bar's occupants one by one. "That guy on the piano's always pissed me off—"

"I told you, Slick"—he makes a vague attempt at sounding stern—"you stab one more of my employees and you're banned."

"Hey, it ain't like I'd stab you. Then I'd have to get a new supply for the hooch."

"Well, hey, why don't you go stab the Felt some more? I know half this town'd thank you. That was a damn good casino they knocked down."

You let out a deep sigh. What did you say? Special blend moron. "The Felt's dead. I told you. Everyone's dead, except me, Snowman and I guess Whitey. And trust me, I wouldn't go back up against that guy even with the whole crew. Guy's supposed to be a fucking god or something."

"Well, uh," Mickey leans in and lowers his voice. "What about Snowman?"

"That's Snowman to you. Show some respect to a lady. And no, I ain't touching Snowman. Not like that, at least"

"How else do you mean?"

You ignore him. "Nobody lays a finger on Snowman, alright? That's the rules. Not like I'd have any idea where to find her anyway. Never stays in one place longer than she needs to torment me."

The clock on the wall strikes three. You suddenly notice everyone seems a lot quieter.

"That, uh, reminds me, actually"—the nervous edge returns to the barman's voice—"Snow—er, Snowman came in just before you. Told me to, uh, tell you to meet her at three o'clock."

You nearly choke on your drink. Snowman's here? How? Why? You slam your fist onto the bar, lean in close and growl right into Mickey's face, making no attempt to hide your rage, "Why the hell are you only telling me now?"

He backs off, sweating again. "Sorry, Slick, she said to tell you at three on the dot!"

"What, you let the Felt tell you what to do now?"

He starts gibbering like a moron. "Hey, whoa, Slick, you know I'm loyal, I hate the Felt as much as you do, it's just... she's an intimidating lady, you know? Got a way of asking that makes a fella feel like they don't have a choice."

You ain't got time for this. You narrow your glare for a moment before leaning back again. "Just tell me where she is."

"In the back, Slick. Sorry."

The private cardroom? What's she up to?

You dismount the stool and another head rush immediately sends you reeling. Dr. Douchebag really did a number on you, apparently. As your vision refocuses, you start staggering towards the door separating the quiet cardroom from the chaos of the bar. The chaos which... doesn't seem to be there any more. Where the hell did everyone go? The place is almost as deserted as the street was.

The ground suddenly spins. You fall over and land at the foot of the pool table. Those two guys are still playing, but it seems like they're nearly done. Only the 8 left to pocket. One of them lines up, pulls back, and strikes the cue ball. The sharp sound ricochets through your head and your vision blurs. Even as you pull yourself to your feet, your legs are becoming unresponsive. The sound ricochets again as the 8 ball is set into motion. You wince as your robotic arm, now somehow feeling like the most real part of you, lifts you up once again. Oh jeez, you're really not feeling good.

"Hey Slick, you feeling alright?" You look around to where Mickey's voice came from. Was that Mickey? Eh, who cares. What are you even doing here anyway? Watching pool? No. Snowman. Watching Snowman. Wait, that doesn't make sense. Meeting Snowman? That sounds more like it. Gotta stand up first though. Just gotta stand up and walk over to the door.

Your vision blacks out. You hear the two guys saying something about the 8 ball, but you're not sure what. You try once more to get to your feet, and promptly pass out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4/13!

You wake up groggily to the feeling of a gentle but persistent breeze. Ugh, your fucking head. How much more injured are you gonna get tonight? You'd better get yourself back to—wait a second. Breeze?

You blink a few times to clear your head as you look around. What the hell? You're out on the pavement somehow. Did that son of a bitch Mickey throw you out? Okay, you know the guy's a moron, but he must be even more lacking in common fucking sense than you realized.

Obviously, you've gotta get back in there and teach him a thing or two about respect. You finally succeed in pushing yourself up off of the floor. About damn time. You're still not feeling great, but you manage to push the door open and stumble inside.

To make matters worse, the clock chooses the exact moment you enter to strike again. Each chime reverberates painfully inside your head. One. Two. Three. Wait, only three? You were sure the clock struck three before you passed out. Oh shit, you haven't been out for twelve hours, have you? No, it was definitely night outside. And you're sure you ain't been out for a whole day. You'd be, you don't know, hungry or something.

Looks like you've got some more time shenanigans on your hands, much to your disgust. You look around the bar, but don't see any green torsos around. Odd. Subtlety's never been their M.O., that's for sure. Unless, of course, you're talking about... her.

Your gaze lands back on that nondescript door at the back of the room. If Mickey was telling the truth, Snowman should be waiting behind it. But honestly, you're not sure what's true right now. You don't know if there was something in that drink, or you were just that badly beat up, but your head's not quite firing on all cylinders right now. Either way, what are the chances that Snowman's even gonna be there? And even if she is, you ain't sure you want to see her right now anyway. By which you mean you'd rather lose an arm and an eye. Again.

You walk over there anyway. If Snowman wants to see you, she'll see you sooner or later, and it'll probably be on her terms. May as well get it over with. You take a deep breath and enter the cardroom.

The room is left in pitch darkness as the door swings shut behind you. You can't see or hear a thing, least of all some lousy broad. Just as you thought. It's time to get out of here, the smell of the place is starting to get on your nerves.

You're just about to turn to leave when you hear a voice right in front of you. A voice that sets your heart racing and makes your blood boil. A voice that makes your every hair stand on end and your every muscle tense. A voice you could never live without, and never wanted to hear again.

"Good of you to join me, Spades."


	4. Chapter 4

You hear the striking of a match, and the darkness lifts from in front of you. Only a little, but enough to recognize the carapace glinting in the light of the flame. Not that you didn't know the voice from the very first word.

The room is silent for a few long seconds. Snowman looks like she's waiting for a reply, but you don't know what to say. Honestly, you weren't expecting her to actually be here. You're about to start piecing words together when something shifts in her demeanor. She raises the match to her mouth and lights her cigarette.

"Take a seat. There's room for one more," she says, gesturing to the chair in front of you.

You finally come to your senses. You ain't gotta put up with this. You flick on the lights, revealing the room in all its shabby, dusty glory.

"Sorry to ruin the whole spooky atmosphere you got here," you growl back at her. "How long you been sitting in the dark to set this up?"

"Oh, don't worry on my account, Spades. You're right on time. Now, please, take a seat."

Ugh. You just wanna wipe the simpering smirk off of that bitch's face. But that's not an option. You don't see what else you can do, so you sit down opposite Snowman.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Snowman takes a long drag from her cigarette before answering. "Who says I'm doing anything? Maybe I just wanted to see you again."

You can't help a half-disgusted, half-incredulous snort. "Yeah, sure, that's real likely."

"You don't sound convinced, Spades."

"You know what? I ain't in the mood for you to jerk me around like this. I don't wanna see you, and you don't wanna see me. And that's that."

"Oh yes, of course," she replies drily. "Because we hate each other, don't we?"

You're... not quite sure what to say to that. "W-well, yeah, that's—wait a second."

Snowman raises an eyebrow as it suddenly dawns on you. Of course! How did you only just realize this now?

"I knew that drink tasted wrong!" you hiss, your teeth gritted in anger. "You spiked it, you huge—"

"What in the world are you talking about, Spades?" Snowman looks genuinely shocked. Like that's fooling anyone.

"I don't know how you knew I'd be here, or how you knew what I'd drink, or how you snuck behind the bar, but I know there sure as hell ain't anyone else in these parts who'd even think about doing something like that. Don't even try to deny it."

Snowman's voice rises ever so slightly. "Don't be ridiculous, Spades. I've been watching you since you left the Doc's apartment, and you haven't had a single drink the whole time."

"Oh, yeah, you—" your voice catches in your throat as you process the last thing she said. What the hell? You know for a fact that's not true. But then why is she saying it?

You shake your head to snap yourself out of it. Now's not the time to be confused. "That's bullshit and you know it. You think I'm gonna believe you were hanging around that bar and I didn't see you? Lemme tell you, you'd stand out like a sore fucking thumb."

"I didn't need to. As soon as you woke up from your nap outside, I went straight to this room, and you came in... maybe 20 seconds later? Hardly time for much of a drink, if you ask me."

OK, seriously? This is weird. Snowman's really off her game. And Snowman's never off her game. "If you're trying to confuse me, it ain't working. I keeled over after I came in and had my drink. Thanks to you. They threw me out, I came back in, and now I'm sitting here explaining things we both already know. So cut the crap."

"Spades, this isn't something I say very often, but I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't take an eye off you from the moment the Doc sent you away to the moment you entered the bar. You got up, walked here, fell down the stairs, hit your head, lay unconscious for a few minutes, woke back up, and went inside. Nothing else."

You ain't normally one to yell at a lady, but this is really starting to piss you off. "You expect me to believe that? I know what I did!" You slam your fist down on the table. "You can ask anyone here, you can ask Mickey—"

"I can't ask Mickey"—she interrupts with a fearsome edge to her voice—"because, whoever he is, he's dead."

"Hey, sometimes I wish he was, but—"

"Everyone is dead, Spades."

Silence fills the room again. There's no movement except the embers and dust floating in and out of the light.

You've never heard Snowman shout like that before. You've never seen her... angry like that.

"Everyone is dead," she repeats, suddenly her usual, calm self again. "You already know that."

Once again, you don't know what to say. You know you've got to say something, but you can't find the right words.

"Didn't Clover warn you? He's more intelligent than he looks. You really should have listened to him."

You mean, she's right. Or, you think she's right. Everyone is dead, you're sure you remember that being a thing.

"Or did you think 'everyone' only meant the Felt and the Midnight Crew? That would be just like you, Spades. You always were naive. You never could grasp the bigger picture."

Hell, you said as much to Mickey before. But how could you, if he's dead? And what Snowman was saying about you knocking yourself out on the stairs... no, that can't be right.

"Not that it matters what you thought. The fact remains, Spades, it's just you and me now."

What the hell's going on?

"We are the last survivors of this universe."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me quite a while. Busy times!

You make up your mind. Whatever Snowman's here for, it's not just to mess with your head. You'd best just figure out why she's here, ASAP.

"So we're the only ones left?" you ask, not quite as uncaringly as you meant to.

As I said, just you and me," she replies through that smug smile of hers.

"What about Doc, uh..." God, what's his name? "You know, asshole with the freaky head?"

"Doc Scratch is out of action. That's all he told me, so that's all either of us need to know."

You're not sure you like that answer, but if it means he's gonna stay out of your non-existent hair, good enough you guess.

"I'm glad you're feeling more cooperative, Spades," Snowman continues. "I have a little favour to ask of you."

What? You don't know what you were expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't this.

"Since when do you ask favors? No, hang on. More to the point, what the hell makes you think I'm gonna do anything for you?"

"Well, that's my dilemma, isn't it, Spades?" She takes another drag, savoring the taste. Sure doesn't look like a dame with a dilemma. "As you said, we hate each other, don't we?"

This again? You were hoping to get to the point sometime this century, but the woman sure likes her circular conversations.

"Yes. We do. Full stop. What's your point?"

She laughs quietly, almost imperceptibly, for a brief moment.

"What's so goddamn funny?"

"Oh, nothing much, Spades. It's just a funny kind of hatred, isn't it?"

"No." What's she getting at?

"You hate me enough to let me take your eye and your arm without fighting back. I hate you enough to kill my own associate to save your life. And I don't know how it was for you, Spades, but we certainly hate each other enough to share the most breathtaking kiss of my life, just a few hours ago."

"What are you trying to imply? Because I'm just about through with this bullshit." You punctuate the last word with another slam of your fist. "If you're doubting the fact that I hate you from the bottom of my heart, you can forget that. And you better believe that I'll be paying you back 10 times over for everything you've done to me, kiss or no fucking kiss."

"I suppose that would involve, say, killing me?"

You narrow your eyes. "It just might, if you don't get to the point right now."

"Well then, go ahead. Kill me."

Wait. What. She doesn't move an inch, and there's no change in her expression—that same cocky smirk—but it feels like she just stood up and punched you in the face. Frankly, that would have been preferable. At least you'd know how to respond.

"I thought you wanted to, Spades."

You keep your glare fixed on Snowman. Whatever she's trying to pull, you won't give her the chance.

She suddenly stubs out her cigarette, takes the holder from her mouth, and snaps it in two, tossing the pieces over her shoulder.

"See? I'm unarmed. No tricks. Do it."

You keep glaring. Waiting for her to do something. But she doesn't, just sits there. Waits for you to kill her. The longer the two of you sit there, the clearer it becomes that she really isn't going to do anything.

You make up your mind. You still ain't got a clue what she's up to, but you're not gonna humor it any more. You stand up abruptly, knocking the chair over behind you. Snowman still doesn't move. Christ, she's infuriating.

"I'm gonna make one thing clear," you snarl down at her. "Spades Slick don't take orders from no-one. Least of all from you. You think I wanna kill you? Well, right now, I wanna go home, get drunk, and play cards with the crew. And that's what I'm gonna do. You be as dramatic as you like with this 'everyone's dead' shtick, but you and your green buddies aren't the only ones who can fuck with time."

She finally responds, albeit with a mixture of exasperation and condescension. "Do you honestly believe a word you're saying? No matter what you think, everyone is dead. And nothing will change that."

"Don't be so sure." You turn to leave, but stop with your hand on the doorknob. "And you know what? If everyone else is dead, you know what that says to me? It says I've won. So whatever game you're trying to play, I'm out. I'm done. You wanna die so bad, go jump in front of a train."

"That won't be necessary, Spades," she replies. "When you change your mind, pay the Doc another visit. I believe he left something behind for you."

You don't even look back as you march out of the cardroom and slam the door behind you.


	6. Chapter 6

It's a long walk back, but at least your head's mostly cleared up. Only thing pounding around it now is thoughts, not that that's a pleasant experience itself. Why does Snowman want you to kill her? What did she mean, Scratch left something behind? And can you... really bring everyone back?

No. That last one ain't a question. You've been wrecking the Felt's shit long enough to know a thing or two about time. You've got a plan.

You uncover the entrance and climb down into the hideout. Ah, home sweet home. Again, that's what you'd think if you cared about stuff like that. Still, at least you're pretty sure nobody's gonna bother you here. The place is one hell of a mess, but that's not exactly unusual. Anyway, time to get down to business. You open your deck of cards.

Come to think of it, you don't think you ever bothered to notice which card the thing's on. You think it's... diamonds? Six of diamonds? Yeah, that makes sense. You retrieve Die's voodoo doll.

The thing's looking a little crowded with all those garish pins sticking out of it. Hang on, you didn't put those last few in. Or do the pins just sort themselves out based on who's alive or dead? No, you definitely stuck a few of them in yourself after killing whoever it was. Hey, what about that time you brought an alive Crowbar and a dead Stitch to a timeline where Crowbar was dead and Stitch was alive? Should they have gotten two pins each or something? Frankly you're starting to suspect that this thing is absolute bullshit. But on second thought, who cares. The last thing you want to do is start messing with that mess of colors anyway. There's only three pins that you're concerned with, stuck straight in the thing's chest. Two red, one black.

You know, it's almost funny. Snowman obviously thinks she's calling the shots, but as long as you've got this doll, she's not got an ounce of leverage. God knows how that jumpy green idiot ended up with the thing, but at least now it's in the hands of someone who can put it to good use. You grab the diamond pin, and pull.

It won't come out. Goddamn, you don't remember these things being so stiff. You try the club instead. Maybe if you wiggle it around a bit? Oh for God's sake. You grab all three pins with your robot arm instead. You think you felt something that time? Just gotta pull as hard as you can. Come on, super robot strength that you probably have now. Just a little more...

The pins snap off in your hand. A moment later, the other ends slip out of the doll and onto the floor. You're... not sure what that means. Does it count as pulling them out? It's gotta, right? Bottom line, the pins ain't in the doll. Just gotta figure out where everyone is in this timeline now.

"Guys?" you yell. May as well try the simplest solution first. "Get in here, we gotta talk."

Not a sound. Maybe you should check their rooms. Boxcars' door is still smashed up from your little skirmish before, so you push it open and enter the dim room.

"Boxcars? You in here, you stupid lunk? We got important planning to do!"

Nope, definitely nobody in here. You return to the main room, and go over to bang on Deuce's door.

"Deuce! Get your stumpy ass out here!"

Oh wait, he always leave his door unlocked, doesn't he. You enter the room, but can instantly see it's just as empty as Boxcars'. Just Droog left to check, you guess. Wouldn't put it past him to have been skulking in his room this whole time. Once again, you cross the room and start banging on the door.

"Droog, you better get out here right now. I seriously ain't in the mood for this."

Dammit, still no reply. And the door's locked too. Sorry Droog, but you gotta know for sure.

"I'm coming in, Droog!"

You kick the door open, wincing a little from the effort, only to be greeted by another empty room. Well, technically, the three rooms have been nothing but empty, since not a one of you is even slightly capable of keeping tidy. But you ain't found what you're looking for, put it that way. You forge a path through Droog's various stashes of suit jackets, ties, Homburgs, guns, Swedish fish, dubious newspapers, and smoking paraphernalia to sit down on the bed. You just need to gather your thoughts. Where are the crew?

Of course! If you've gone to a timeline where they never got killed by whatever happened with the vault, they've gotta be right where you left them, back at the mansion! Hell, they're probably wondering where you are right about now. You'd better get them over here as soon as possible. After all, the sooner you get the crew back together, the sooner you can close the book on this whole mess, and the sooner you can start planning the next heist. You hastily take out your 10-4 cards. You know, your radio? Remember how that was a thing and all?

"Fellas? Forget the Felt for now. Just get back to HQ, we've got shit to do."

...

"Hey! You idiots copy? What's going on?"

Why aren't you getting anything but static? This is definitely the right channel. Are you out of range? Or maybe your radio's not working. That'd be just your luck on top of everything else. You'd better keep them updated, just in case.

"OK, look, if you can hear me, just stay there. I don't know what the hell you're all up to, but I'm on the way."

You gather up your cards, leave the room, and climb back out of the hideout. Dammit, you forgot the van must still be at the mansion too. Guess you'll have to walk. You have a feeling it's going to be an even longer night than it's already been.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry it's been so long! Life's been busy and I've just generally been feeling rather unmotivated. I can't make any promises, but I'll try my best to get the next chapter up soon-ish.

HAHAHAHAHA!!! IN YOUR FACE, MONSTERS! MAN, THIS FEELS GOOD!

K4RK4T, TH4T W4S L1K3 THR33 1MPS

OH, WELL FUCKING *EXCUSE ME* FOR TRYING TO MOTIVATE THE TEAM.

WHO 3X4CTLY DO YOU M34N BY "TH3 T34M"? B3C4US3 1'M PR3TTY SUR3 TH4T GUY W1TH TH3 KN1V3S H4SNT L1ST3N3D TO 4 WORD YOU'V3 S41D TH1S WHOL3 T1M3

HEY, DON'T TALK SHIT ABOUT JACK. HE'S GONNA BE OUR KEY TO WINNING THIS THING, I CAN FEEL IT.

DO YOU S3R1OUSLY B3L13V3 TH4T

UH, YEAH! WHAT, YOU THINK EQUIUS HAS GOT SOMETHING BETTER UP HIS SLEEVE? HE DOESN'T EVEN *HAVE* SLEEVES.

OK F1RST OF 4LL W3 4LR34DY 3ST4BL1SH3D TH3 T34MS M34N NOTH1NG, 4ND MOR3 TO TH3 PO1NT 1 4M TH3 S33R NOT YOU! 4ND 1'V3 GOT 4 S3R1OUSLY B4D F33L1NG 4BOUT H1M

FUCK OFF, YOU'RE ONLY SAYING THAT BECAUSE HE STABBED YOU.

Hey, kids, you shout over your shoulder. You done with your little lover's tiff? Let's keep it moving.

YOU ST4Y OUT OF TH1S J4CK!

You sigh, and begrudgingly walk back over to where the Knight and Seer are still yammering on about you, despite the fact that you're clearly in earshot. These troll kids, you swear.

Look, you get it, you say. You're from Derse, and they're from Prospit. You're not supposed to like each other, and you're certainly not supposed to trust each other. But you've all got the same goal, you say. You just gotta get rid of the queen together and go your separate ways. Simple.

SEE? WE CAN TRUST HIM!

YOU HON3STLY TH1NK H3 WO'NT B3TR4Y US TH3 F1RST CH4NC3 H3 G3TS?

WHY WOULD HE EVEN WANT TO DO THAT, WE'RE ON THE SAME TEAM!

Okay, you'll put it another way. If they wanna kill the queen, or exile her, or whatever, they're gonna need your help. You remind them that you've got half the dark kingdom on your side. You can do this the hard way, or the easy way.

1—

LOOK, WE'LL TALK ABOUT IT LATER. BUT JUST FOR NOW, IF YOU CAN'T TRUST HIM, CAN'T YOU AT LEAST TRUST ME?

BLUH, F1N3, 4S LONG 4S YOU PROM1S3 TO N3V3R S4Y SOM3TH1NG L1K3 TH4T 4G41N

So are we all done now, you ask again. You can't see under her glasses, but you can just feel the Seer glaring at you intensely. Whatever. So long as she keeps her mouth shut, you don't care what she thinks of you.

Your radio pipes up all of a sudden. It's the Brute. Says he's ready and waiting with the cache you requested over on LOTAF, but the light kingdom's patrols will be around soon enough, so you'd better hurry. You say got it, over and out.

Alright kids, shake a leg, you say, striding off ahead of them. You're on the clock.

* * *

OK, you've been watching this crap long enough. You should be looking for the crew, not sitting in this vault watching those trolls kids and their constant stream of bullshit. Like it wasn't painful enough the first time.

But as much as you hate to admit it, you're at a loss. You turned the ruins of the mansion upside down twice over, but there's no sign of the crew. Still nothing on the radio. And the van's right where you left it, so they can't have driven away.

"Everybody is dead, Spades"

Snowman's words echo around your head, but you force yourself not to listen. It's not true. It can't be true. Because if it is...

No. God damn it, you gotta find some way to distract yourself. You look around the vault, but there's not much to see. A bunch of dusty old machines. The alcove where you inexplicably found that robot arm and eyepatch. And those twelve screens. The one showing the Knight is still turned on. Once again, you find yourself both revolted and captivated by the sight of your past self.

You remember those days well. Things used to be so simple, if unpleasant. Filing paperwork by day, and plotting by night. Not to mention plotting by day, and filing paperwork by night. You were always an efficient worker. And then one day, the legendary heroes of Prospit and Derse appeared. You might not be a man who knows his mythology, but you've always known how to take an opportunity when you've seen one.

You don't say this kinda thing lightly, but the next few weeks were some of the best of your life. Sure, the heroes were mostly a bunch of loud, annoying freaks, but at the end of the day, they got shit done. And more to the point, you got shit done. Operation Regisurp was a pipe dream before they turned up, but once you got them working for you—you mean, with you, of course—it pretty much went off without a hitch. The queen was gone, and you had the ring.

And then the penny dropped. The Seer had been working with the queen the whole time, and had persuaded the others to stab you in the back. They took the ring and sent you packing to the same shithole you just got done sending the queen too. But you know what? Even then, you didn't miss a beat. The crew was still with you, and now the queen had a posse of her own. Once you got done building a city and cloning a bunch of people to live in it, like you were apparently supposed to, it was back to business as usual. Hell, it was better than that. You didn't even have to pretend to be loyal to anyone any more, or waste time with a boring desk job. It was just the Midnight Crew versus the Felt, Spades Slick versus Snowman, locked in a gang war for the rest of your natural lives.

So then, what next? The city's deserted. The Felt's dead. The crew...

God damn it. She's in your head. The crew can't be dead. They're the one thing that never changed. Well, them and Snowman. For better or worse, they've been with you from the start, and you always thought they'd be with you till the end. No, you knew. They still will be. The pins came out, they have to be alive!

"When you change your mind, pay the Doc another visit. I believe he left something behind for you."

Why did you suddenly remember that, of all things? You've got no idea what the hell that guy would want to give you, but it can't be anything good. You somehow doubt he's got the crew waiting for you, all wrapped up with a bow. Not to mention, you've got other places to check anyway. The four of you've got dozens of boltholes and haunts around the city, they could be at any one of them. You're done here.

But you don't leave. Just like you didn't leave the bar when Snowman wanted to meet you. Instead, you can't help looking over to the transportalizer in the corner of the vault. Last time you were here, that thing was your only way out. And when it took you straight to Scratch's front door, well, that was just an added bonus. But this is different, though. You shouldn't go back. Whatever's on the other side of that transportalizer, it ain't what you want. It's obviously a trap or something anyway.

You step onto the panel anyway. Whatever Snowman wants to happen, it'll happen sooner or later, and you know it'll be on her terms. Just gotta get it over with. You take a deep breath and transportalize to Scratch's apartment.

The green corridor you emerge into is as pristine as it always was, as is the door directly in front of you. There's one difference, though: there ain't the sound of some self-important asshole giving a lecture to thin air coming from behind the door. No sound except the ticking of that awful goddamn clock. Even though you destroyed it? What the hell? Obviously something's gone down since you were there. You gotta be ready for anything. You hold your knife at the ready as you kick down the door.

Unfortunately, you forgot to check if the door was locked first, which it was not, causing you to fall straight through the doorway and flat onto your face. Shit, that hurt more than it should. You lift your head up from the floor, and find yourself face to face with Scratch. Or face to featureless cueball, you guess.

Huh. Looks like he really is down for the count. With a leg torn off and a hole in his back, no less. Seriously, who the fuck could have even done that? You couldn't so much as lay a finger on him, and you like to think there aren't many people tougher than you in this town.

It's only then that you notice something laid on the floor next to him. Looks like an envelope. A green envelope, with "Spades Slick" written on it with white ink, in ridiculously over-the-top cursive. Yeah, you think you can guess who wrote this. You turn it over to find it's held shut with a perfectly circular, plain white wax seal. Holy shit, you hate this guy as much as he loves himself. But hey, you've come this far. You crack open the seal, pull out the letter, and start to read.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've got custom CSS, get highlighting. I'm so sorry, by the way. But authenticity must rule, in this story at least.

Dear Mr. Slick,

Or should that be Mr. Noir? We never did settle that particular point. Regardless, we have more important things to discuss at the moment. You surely have many questions after all that has transpired since that stunt of yours with the vault. I know you never cared much for my usual manner of speaking, so I will try to answer your questions as concisely as possible. I have also provided a fresh bowl of licorice scotty dogs to keep you placated for the duration of this letter.

The fact that you are reading this should mean that I am currently incapacitated. If my body is nearby, I must request that you do not interfere with or damage it; I will soon be lending it to somebody, and so it must be kept in pristine condition.

Now, we must get down to pertinent business. If you were a more observant reader, you would be intrigued by my uncharacteristic uncertainty. It is indeed the case that my vision, though normally nigh absolute, is currently clouded, and so I am unable to see the exact circumstances of your receipt of this letter. While this scenario would usually worry me, the little I have been able to ascertain has assured me that this clouding of my vision is, in fact, an extremely good sign.

Allow me to explain. You know my master, Lord English, as one with command solely over time. It is indeed true that time is his primary domain, but he is also a master of the void. Just as the young troll you knew as the Heir always clouded my vision, so too does my master whenever I attempt to peer into his future. But do not forget that I am, of course, extremely intelligent. You could say that omniscience is almost unnecessary for one whose deductions are as accurate as mine. And so, my knowledge of my master's nature, together with the fact that the final parts of my plan are falling into place, makes me reasonably confident that this coming darkness heralds his arrival.

Of course, you think that Lord English is already here, and you are correct to think so. I could explain why it is only now that he is to come into existence. I could explain how all I have worked on for millennia has led up to this coming moment, and the devastating consequences that will result, and have already resulted, from the culmination of my efforts, but I fear it would be lost on you. You could not even begin to understand the true scope of my master's influence, and you would certainly never believe it.

That always has been your problem, Slick: your obstinate refusal to consider the bigger picture. For that matter, your refusal to consider your own potential, to consider anything at all beyond the next act of petty violence. You are a man of considerable talent, and if you had only put that talent to constructive use, rather than the perpetuation of that ridiculous "gangster" fantasy of yours, you could have been so useful. In another world, you were. But it is too late for that now. Alternia and its moons lie barren and dead, for the final time. Surely, even you can see by now that there is no undoing that. There is nothing left for you but one final duty.

When you shoot Snowman, you will not simply be killing her. No, her life was long ago bound to that of this universe, by none other than myself. When you shoot Snowman, you will be killing this whole universe, and all that is left in it. Destroying the woman you so hate and the creature you so despise with one bullet. Would that not be most satisfying? At the very least, it would be the only noteworthy thing you have ever done.

I know I can't force you to. Not that I would want to; I am always loath to resort to such unbecoming tactics. Just know that a tale of unimaginable proportion, spanning five universes and all the time and space in between, has reached its final page, and an even greater one is about to begin, all on your command. You finally have the chance to make your mark of destruction on all of paradox space. If I were you, Slick, I wouldn't pass this up.

Yours patiently,

Doc Scratch

There's something in black ink and different, but equally over-the-top handwriting at the bottom.

PTO

You turn the letter over and read.

Spades.

Roof. Now.

Bring the gun.


	9. Chapter 9

It's raining on the rooftop. You don't normally mind the rain, but who knows what it could do to your various robot parts. You've had enough injuries for one day already, and you're in no mood to get an electric shock from your own eye or something ridiculous like that. You know that reminds you of this one time that Deuce—

Oh who are you kidding. You're just distracting yourself here. Or trying to, you guess. Truth is, you don't know what else to do any more. But you always know what to do. Sure, Droog was always your guy for intricate plans, but you always gave the orders. And you always knew what order to give. Kill that guy. Destroy those clocks. Burn down that speakeasy. As long as you had someone to fight, you knew how to go about it. And for God knows how long, you had that and you liked it. The Felt may have been a load of brain-dead morons who could barely shoot straight or form a coherent sentence, but they sure were fun to kill. And all of their time travel bullshit may have been unbearable most of the time, but it did mean they had a tendency to show up alive again every time you bumped them off. Ripe for the re-killing.

But that's over now. You don't know when you accepted it, but you did. The Felt are dead, and so is the Midnight Crew. For good. Those pins in the doll... that wasn't right, the way they were stuck in like that. You get it now. They weren't never supposed to come back out. Everyone is dead.

Everyone except you and Snowman. And now here you both are, staring each other down, high above the hideous green city that you know must be just as empty as the place you call home.

"I trust you read the letter, Spades?"

You don't reply.

"Either way, you know what to do."

Yeah. You sure as hell know what she wants you to do. Feels like it's all you've heard about all day, even from people who are dead, or unconscious, or whatever.

But Spades Slick don't take orders from no-one. Least of all from her. Seems like she think she can boss you around now just because you lost the crew. Sure, that's a setback, but you've had setbacks before. It don't mean you're immediately gonna start doing whatever your worst enemy says.

"Spades."

Snowman's voice snaps you back into reality. She's right there, waiting for you. But you're not gonna give her the satisfaction.

"It's not happening, Snowman. You ain't never been the boss of me, and that ain't changing."

"Never? Is that so?" she asks, her voice thick with mock curiosity.

"Never."

"Not even back then?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten... Jack."

Your fists reflexively clench.

"Fuck you!" you yell back at her, with an energy you didn't realize you still had. "Don't you ever say that fucking name again."

"You didn't seem to have any problem with the Doc saying it."

"That's..." Fucking hell. No. You can't take this shit, not now. Not about this. "That's because he's just some wiseguy who knows a lot less than he thinks he knows. But I thought—no, I know that you know, the past is the past! I ain't Jack Noir, not any fucking more! And you ain't the queen!"

Snowman looks genuinely amused. Christ. That smile has never filled you with more rage than right now.

"Oh, is that right, Spades? Then what are we? Just a banished quasiroyal and some scurrilous straggler?"

"You know what we are? We're a couple of mob bosses who just lost their mobs. We're nothing right now. So drop the goddamn high and mighty shit."

She open her mouth to retort, but you don't let her. "And before you start talking in circles and trying to mess with my head, lemme tell you something: I don't need a crew. I can do just fine on my own."

There's a long pause before Snowman responds, formulating each word slowly and carefully.

"Do you want to?"

You—you can't answer. You thought you were done getting shocked into silence, but you gotta admit... she's right. _Do_ you want to?

"I don't doubt you could, Spades. You could go back to Midnight City, to your boltholes and hideouts, live off your emergency stockpiles. You could live quite comfortably, I imagine. You'd never have to see me again. Or anyone."

You know she's tricking you. Manipulating you. You know what's she's getting at, but you just don't know how to argue with it.

"You could scurry around on your dead planet for eternity, if you wanted to. No enemies to... get in your way."

"Alright!" you shout. "I get it!"

You feel something in your eye. What the hell? That can't be a tear, can it? You don't remember the last time you had one of those. Maybe never. But it can't be. What the hell do you got to be blubbering about? Goddamit, Slick. Pull yourself together. It's just rain falling onto your face.

OK. You can't believe you're asking this. But it's because you want to know, not because she told you to.

"If I shoot you, what'll happen?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Spades." Her smile deepens. "It's quite simple, really. I will die, of course. And then, so will our universe. We'll finally be rid of that Bilious Slick. That disgusting creature that we've had the displeasure of being exiled into."

"So what happens when the universe dies?"

"Exactly what you'd think. Everything will be destroyed, and anyone left in it will die, of course."

You'd suspected as much. That pistol may as well have a double-ended barrel.

"I know you're not afraid to die, Spades."

"Yeah, I'm not afraid. But I got common sense. There's a difference between being scared of dying and not wanting to die."

"And when was the last time you showed any signs of either?"

You notice the rain's stopped. Your cheek still feels wet, though.

"You like games, don't you, Spades?"

Wait, what?

"I know you're more partial to cards," she continues, "but what do you say to a game of roulette?"

Before you even realize what's happening, Snowman's Black Inches lash towards you, and coil around the gun in your hand. You try to hold on, but she pulls it from you, and catches it as the whip recoils.

"If you think I'm gonna play goddamn Russian roulette—"

"Well, how about a variation?" she asks, and points the pistol straight at you. Her finger's already on the trigger.

"Woah, woah, what are you—"

She pulls the trigger.

The gun clicks.

Huh. She's right about one thing, you like games.

"OK, my turn. Hand it over."

She laughs quietly. "I'm afraid that's not how this variation is played."

She pulls the trigger again.

The gun clicks again.

What the hell does she think she's doing? You thought she wanted you to kill her, and now she's trying to kill you?

She pulls the trigger again. And again. And again.

The gun clicks three times.

"Five attempts. I must be suffering terrible luck, mustn't I? It only seems fair to give you a turn now."

She throws the pistol back with a smirk. You catch it without taking your eyes off her.

So you guess that was her game. Somehow, she knew what would happen. Maybe Scratch set it up that way. Whatever the case, now you've got two choices. You can just leave. Go back home, live the rest of your life alone in Midnight City. Or you can pull the trigger. Kill Snowman. Destroy the universe. Do... what was it he said? The only noteworthy thing you've ever done.

"What are you waiting for?" Snowman calls to you, as casually as if she was asking the time.

You wipe your face dry with one shaking hand, and raise the gun with the other.

"Draw, Spades."

Just for a moment, you glance up at the grey planet hanging above you, before moving your gaze back down again. You lock eyes with Snowman, and the two of you stare at each other. Part of you just longs to go over there and kiss her one last time. But the time for that's long gone. The past is the past.

You pull the trigger.

The gun fires.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Hiveswap day!
> 
> Also final chapter coming soon

Your name is SPADES SLICK, and you just destroyed the universe.

You realise now that this was a long time coming. You and her couldn't keep up your dance forever. It was always gonna end like this, with one of you killing the other.

The ground shakes violently. No, wait, that's not quite right. Everything shakes violently. The sky's filled with some kind of green lightning, and what looks like a bunch huge explosions. Who knows what that's all about. Point is, it's starting. And by that you mean it's ending.

You stuff the gun back into your pocket. Like you'll even need it, even it it wasn't empty.

Your gaze drifts down from the somewhat nauseating light show in the sky, and your focus moves to Snowman. Yep, she's dead as a doornail, that's for sure. Just lying there in a pool of her own blood, which is blue for some reason? Whatever. Any slight urge you might have once had to investigate that sort of mystery is long gone now. What would be the point? What would be the point of anything, now you're the last man alive?

You turn your back on Snowman. Far away across the city, the Sun is trying its best to rise like normal, as if all this preposterous bullshit wasn't tearing apart reality all around it. You walk towards it, and come to a stop at the edge of the roof, sitting with your legs over the edge. You never had the urge to sit and watch the sunrise before, but what the hell. You never destroyed the universe before either. Today's a special day.

It's weird, you think, looking out over the city streets below. Just 24 hours ago, you dreamed of ruling them. And now you guess you do. The Midnight Crew really did come out on top in the end. You won. You should be glad, but it ain't exactly the best of circumstances for that.

OK, who are you kidding. Snowman had you pegged. Of course she did, she always did. Winning is just goddamn boring when there's no competition. No, scratch that, it ain't winning at all. You didn't win nothing when you shot Snowman. Nothing except the run of an empty planet, for the short time it still exists.

But then again, what's worse? Ruling an over empty planet for whatever short time you have left, or ruling it forever? No lackies to boss around, no innocent bystanders to terrorise, no rival goons to kill... you know what you'd pick if you had the choice, which you don't. Bring on the apocalypse.

Jeez, this sure is taking a while. After all the shit this goddamn universe put you through, it can't even be bothered to kill you with any urgency. Lousy goddamn frogs, you mutter to yourself.

Well, may as well settle down for as long as you're here, since you don't much feel like going anywhere. You flick through your deck of cards, and eventually find your trusty flask. You don't remember what's in it, but it tastes rancid. Oh well. You never exactly had a refined taste anyway. Not like Droog with his fucking liqueur coffees or whatever kind of shit he drank.

The shaking intensifies. It's hard to keep balance, and you can hardly hear yourself think. Not to mention the green shit in the sky is flashing so much now that's it's giving you a headache. You must be getting close. You don't know why, but you're sure. Maybe just because you don't see how things can get much worse than this. You're not exactly the poetic type, but you suppose this is a suitably dramatic way to go out. Sat up on the roof with a flask of liquor, calmly watching the world end?

Yeah. That'll do, you think.

"Slick!"

What the fuck?

No, seriously, who was that? Everyone's dead, you're damn sure you know that much by now.

"Slick! Hang on! I'll save you!"

OK what the hell is going on. You look over your shoulder and see... you have no idea who that is. Or even what they are. Sure as hell ain't a carapacian, or whatever the Felt were even supposed to be. Doesn't look like any troll you ever saw either. Orange skin, brown hair, and wearing some kind of ridiculous black robe. More pressingly, he's running towards you at full tilt, with a manic look on his face.

"Slick!" he shouts again, and immediately trips over his own feet, but manages to recover without even breaking stride. "You've got to come with me! Quickly!"

You scramble to your feet, still trying and failing to understand what's going on. You were all settled down for a calm, stoic death. What the hell does this guy think he's doing?

"Who the fuck are—"

The orange guy grabs you by the arm and pulls you away from the ledge.

"There's no time to explain! He's coming for us both!"

"Who is?!"

"Who do you think, Slick? Lord English! We've only got a few minutes until this universe dies for good, and then English is going to materialise out of that asshole Scratch's body and kill us if we don't get out of here!"

"Yeah, well, English ain't gonna kill me if the apocalypse does it first." You try to shake your arm free from the guy's grip. "I made my choice, I'm staying here."

The guy's eyes widen in shock. "What? No! You can't die yet, Slick, I still have so many plans for you! Now let's get moving!"

Before you can keep arguing, he tugs you away by the arm and starts running back into Scratch's apartment building.

It's hard enough just to keep your footing with this hyperactive lunatic pulling you every which way, let alone speak, but you manage to sputter a response. "What do you mean, plans for me? I don't take orders, specially not from... from, uh, whoever the hell you are."

He rounds a corner too fast, and inadvertently slams you into the doorframe behind him. Holy shit, your head. God fucking dammit.

"Oh shit, are you alright?"

You just glare at him. You still haven't got any answers out of this freak, and you're getting fed up.

"Look, Slick, the bottom line is you're just too cool to die now. Everyone knows you're the best Jack, I can't get rid of you only halfway through!"

"Don't call me—"

"Yeah, yeah, Jack, Slick, who gives a shit. Let me tell you who definitely doesn't: Lord English. The guy who's gonna be right here with us in about a minute's time, and who's going to kill us if you don't stop asking stupid questions and just let me rescue you!"

"I don't wanna be rescued, you goddamn creep!"

"Well you know what? Tough fucking shit. I've got enough on my plate already without you derailing things. My story, my rules."

Before you can even wonder what that means, never mind rebut it, he runs off again, still dragging you behind. As you approach the staircase leading down to Scratch's apartment, the guy slips again with a shriek, and you both go tumbling down the stairs. The last thing you see is the floor rushing up towards you.


	11. Chapter 11

Things after that were kind of a blur. You're not sure what really did it, but somewhere amongst all the bangs to the noggin you received over that last 24 hours, you think some real nasty damage got done. Not that you had any idea what was going on anyway, even when your head was clear.

You woke up in some kinda hospital bed, with a whole bunch of tubes and drips in you. God knows what they were for, if in fact they were for anything at all. The orange guy played doctor by your bedside most of the time, but you're pretty sure he didn't know what the hell he was doing, besides replacing half your goddamn body with metal. Literally at least half. You're pretty sure you ended up made more out of metal than flesh by the end of it. Guy assured you it was necessary for your survival.

You never figured out who he was, or why he was so determined to keep you alive. He'd constantly babble about some comic, and how you couldn't let down the fans, and something about some sort of collision, but you could never get a straight answer. Not that you much cared. Guy was an idiot and a creep, that much was crystal clear.

One day, you'd been attempting to persuade him to let you go in your usual manner, that being stabbing him repeatedly, when he left the room looking for this dame that he lived with. Oh yeah, that dame. You think she was his maid or something. Real looker, that one. She and her soup were just about the only good thing about that place. But anyway, the guy came running back in shouting something about English, and that he was in the house or something? You don't know. Of course, being the asshole he was, he threw you off of a balcony instead of letting you take a shot at English. You know you'd have probably died, but it felt like a long time since anyone except the orange guy had cared about that.

Speaking of, you were pretty sure you were gonna die anyway at that point. Turns out the guy's house was ridiculously huge, and the balcony he pushed you off was something like 100 feet up. But for better or for worse, you survived by landing in a lake and also by being a cyborg.

You made it back to the house to find the orange guy dead, and English gone. Talk about a missed opportunity. You'd have liked to kill them both yourself. The dame was still around though, and that was when you ended up with Die's old voodoo doll again, of all things.

You're not sure why you did it. Or why it worked. But you ended up in charge of the Felt. God, not long ago you'd have spat at the idea, but there were no other pins in the doll. No other option. But at the end of the day, you had a gang again. A loyal bunch of minions, an obligatory smart guy to be your right hand man, and even a smoking hot moll to boot. Also a sort of... centaur butler thing. You're not sure where it came from.

Your new right hand man said he'd take you to a hideout of theirs. Help you make plans, all that junk. Just like old times. Maybe, you thought, you could find yourself some new rivals and start again. Spades Slick, leader of the Felt. It had a decent ring to it.

You don't know if Crowbar was stupid, or tricked you, or what, but you didn't end up in a hideout. You don't know where you ended up. The place looked like your old universe at first. From way back when, back when you were first grown in a tube in a cloning lab. But as you got closer, you could see it was different. Only subtle differences, but enough to let you know you'd never been there before. Four towers, eight planets. This wasn't home.

But you didn't care any more. You didn't want to stop and find answers and make plans. What was even the point of that, you realised, when you were only going to end up deciding to wreck the place no matter what. This place may be different, but Skaia is Skaia, and sooner or later it'll end up with some filthy pondsquatter growing inside it. You let it happen once, and you weren't planning on letting it happen again.

As you rocketed past one of the unfamiliar planets, you were shouted down by a voice from the ground. Another strange creature, you don't know what it was. Looked like a kid, you think. He tried to challenge you or something, but obviously you didn't care in the slightest. That is, until he said one thing. His name.

English.

Even at the time, you had your doubts. Yeah, you'd never seen the guy, but this kid? Couldn't be him... right?

But that was when something much more interesting came along. It looked weirdly like you, in hindsight, but if the glowing pool ball eyes weren't enough of a giveaway, your robot eye's readings were going off the charts. You were starting to wonder if you were ever gonna find English, but suddenly here was two for the price of one. You decided quickly: this kid might be calling himself English, but this other guy looks a hell of a lot more like the real deal. Of course, you'd have preferred to kill them both yourself, but the one with the eyes was getting away in a goddamn hurry. You left the bozos to deal with the squirt, and set off after your nemesis.

Like you said, it was all a little hazy, ever since the night you killed Snowman. You still didn't know where you were, or how you got there. You didn't know who the orange guy was, or how he got you to safety, or why he cared so much about keeping you alive. You didn't know who or what that kid was, or why he called himself English. You didn't know how English had ended up here with you, or why he looked like you. When he finally stopped, you didn't know what the Seer was doing there, or who the other two with her were. But you didn't care.

English destroyed your casino. The Seer exiled you. The other two kids were working with her. You finally had enemies again. You could finally do what you did best.

Even the fight was a goddamn mess. Time shenanigans all over the place. People zipping in and out of the place for seconds at a time. Even one of your guys somehow ended up there for a moment, chasing some red ghost. But you were used to this kind of shit from the Felt. You were used to just ignoring it and keeping on fighting the old-fashioned way.

And now, here you are. Of course the Seer and her friends needed bumping off, but English was the real target. When he was distracted with one of the kids, you made your move. Got the guy in a stranglehold with his own scepter.

"Don't fucking move!" you yell over English's manic screams. "Or your buddy dies! Don't think I can't reach him from here!"

The Seer's off somewhere else, recovering. Only the other kid's in a position to attack you, the one in red. He only has one option too, but it'd take guts. Of course, you don't know the guy. You don't know if he has guts or not. But you made your gamble.

He stands frozen for a few seconds, before something changes in his expression. Only very slightly, but you know that expression. The expression of a guy who's made up his mind. English roars even louder. The fire around his body flares up, and multicolored sparks fly off of him. But you don't say anything. You don't do anything. You know there's nothing you can do now.

You're glad English dies first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, after a very long pause whoops, I guess that's my first fic finished! I'm not 100% happy with a lot of parts but I still think it was alright for my first shot, of course any constructive feedback is very much appreciated! Maybe someday when I'm more experienced at writing I'll go back and make this one better, who knows. Either way thanks very much for reading to the end, I hope you enjoyed!


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